Page 74 of Hidden & Held

The number should make me feel safe, vindicated. Instead, as suddenly as the surge of emotion hit, it dissipates. Exhaustion fills me as I review the reiterated job description and the expected billable hours, which are always lower than actuals.

Setting my laptop aside, I rub my chest as it begins to constrict. The weariness I have been recovering from seeps into my bones. I squint as the onslaught of impending tasks hits me. My temples begin to thud as a headache begins. I unclench my fists, rubbing my temple in circular motions to try to increase the blood flow. Opening my eyes, I look around for my peppermint rollerball, always near my laptop, before I freeze.

Peppermint isn’t mine anymore.

Thinking back to this past week, all the medical advice from Mack and the crazy ideas from Nessa, I attempt the breathing exercises Mack recommends. It helps, some. But as soon as my eyes shift over to my computer, my heart rate spikes.

Then, uninvited, a crazy Nessa-ism worms its way into my brain.

“Look, you need an interruption. When your crazy smart brain starts eating itself alive, you need to go outside and make your body remember that it’s attached to this spinning rock floating in outer space.”

“What does that even mean?” I had questioned, annoyed at the time.

“It means you are in your head too much. Go outside and literally touch grass when your brain spirals too high in the what-if clouds. Preferably, your feet, root yourself to this planet.”

The rain is cold enough to steal the breath from my lungs as I step into the backyard, one foot bare, cast in an oversized hard-bottom slipper mysteriously left at my front door days ago. Immediately, I regret this. Moving my naked foot onto the grass, arms spread out, crutches wide for balance. Mud presses between my toes and my hair sticks to me instantly. Somewhere in the distance, I can hear a dog bark over the raindrops tapping against the roof.

“Interrupt the spiral.” Nessa’s voice chimes in my head.

Now, standing one ankle-deep in wet grass behind my duplex while my lucrative job offer sits in my inbox, I hate that she may not be entirely wrong.

A reluctant laugh escapes me. Somewhere across town, Nessa is probably sensing this victory through crystals, moonbeams, or whatever powers her.

I don’t know how long I’ve been out here, but when I get to my back door, a neatly folded towel is sitting inside. I scan Jackson’s side of the duplex; no movement. I take the towel, refusing to be embarrassed that the Jackass saw me in the rain. He wouldn’t understand being crazy and, admittedly, authentically yourself, even if it slapped him across the face.

As I towel dry off, putting Jackson’s robe back on because it was convenient and no other reason, my phone rings.

“Hello, this is Phoenix Lane.”

“Hello! So glad I caught you; it’s Melinda with the Durham Foundation. How’s that ankle doing?” Her kind voice comes across over the squeak of a desk chair.

Her compassion catches me off guard. “Oh, uh, hi, Melinda, it is good to hear from you. It’s still in a cast but getting better. Thanks.” I tap my palm against my forehead, her kindness throwing me off kilter.

She laughs, ignoring my weirdness. “I’m sure it is. I’m calling to let you know how impressed we all were with you. We think you are the right kind of person to bring into our environment to help these women and children not only feel safe, but also set them up for a better future. You have an intellectual presence that doesn’t come across as condescending, only as capable. Your empathy in discussing some of our more difficult cases resonated with us. Right now, we can only help in the short-term. You would be able to give them the freedom and protection needed for them to feel safe once they leave our residences.”

My cheeks lift in a bright smile. “Really? That is such an honor to hear you say.” I don’t even recognize the lilt in my voice from her compliment on my character instead of my acumen.

“It’s well deserved, dear. Now, as a foundation, we obviously have limited resources. However, as part of the Durham Corp, we can provide you with their excellent benefits package, including health insurance, 401(k), etc. We will send you the detailed breakdown.”

I find my notebook and pen and scratch out some notes as she continues on.

“We also offer a flexible schedule. Mondays are a requirement; they are usually our busiest days, but we often work a four-day work week, with the occasional emergency over the weekend.”

Four days a week? I can’t fathom the freedom.

“Sounds more than fair on the schedule. What is the salary?”

From the initial pause and change in tone, I can tell this is the part Melinda was nervous about. The number she relays makes my heart sink. It’s half the size of the offer sitting in my inbox.

“Alright, is there a non-compete clause?” I ask as an idea begins to take shape.

“What do you mean?” she asks.

“Am I not allowed to work with other firms or clients? Ethically, I would never work with something that would create a conflict of interest, but what about the occasional unrelated divorce case, or prenup review?”

“Oh! Well, we have never hired an attorney before, but no, I don’t see why not. As you said, as long as there is no direct correlation to anyone we provide housing for, that would be fine. We can include that in your contract too.”

“Great, and one last question: do we have billable hours or other measurable performance metrics? I know we don’t charge the clients for our services. However, if we have KPIs that we must hit, I want to understand the environment or working hours. If I have to stay until midnight at the end of each month to meet targets, that kind of thing.”